


Watch Out for That Bunny, He's Got a Gun

by auburn



Series: Bad Wigs [7]
Category: Alias (TV), due South
Genre: Cops, Crossover, F/M, Humor, Out of Date, Spies, mounties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:11:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/pseuds/auburn
Summary: Bad Wigs Fluff. With Bonus RayK and Fraser.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Posting old fic from Live Journal to AO3. 2004.
> 
> Uh. This is like the weirdest crossover in my history of writing strange things. Also seems to be the last Bad Wigs.

"Tell me again, Fraser, why we're here?"  
  
"Meg, that is Chief Inspector Thatcher, happened to mention that CSIS suspects Victor Covarubbias of arms dealing. He may be about to mastermind an purchase under cover of his childrens' Easter picnic party," Fraser said. He snaked forward another few feet. "Watch out for the laser sensors, Ray."  
  
"Hunh."  
  
Ray crawled after him, cursing under his breath when a burr worked its way under the waistband of his jeans. Obligingly, he ducked his head under the laser he couldn't even see. (How did Fraser do that? Did he have bat sonar or something?) The stupid burr started working its way down. Jesus. Ouch.  
  
"You know, that's doesn't explain why I'm here," he muttered. "Ouch."  
  
He jerked his elbow off another burr. This was why he preferred the city. Sure, there was broken glass, assorted garbage, used needles and other nameless yuck, but he'd never got a cockle burr down his shorts in Chicago.  
  
"Are you all right, Ray?"  
  
"Peachy."  
  
"Well, Ray, you're here because you insisted on following me," Fraser said. "Yes, I believe your precise words were 'I'm not letting you out of my sight this time.' That was it, wasn't it, Ray?"  
  
Oooh, pissy. Ray grinned since Fraser couldn't see him.  
  
"You get in trouble when you wander off by yourself."  
  
That sound, yes, that sound was a snort. Fraser had just snorted. Ray was getting to him.  
  
Ouch. Jesus, the burr was getting to him.  
  
He twisted to the side and shoved his hand down his pants.  
  
"Ray what are you doing?"  
  
He felt around.  
  
"I got - I got a - "  
  
There, there the little bugger was. Ray jerked it out, grimacing as the burr caught in his pubes just one more time for old times' sake. He flicked the evil burr away. "A burr," he finished.  
  
Fraser had his head turned around, staring at Ray over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.  
  
What, he thought Ray was so turned on by crawling into an arms dealer's estate where he might get his ass handed to him that he had to stop and grope himself?  
  
"Perhaps if you didn't wear such loose pants, Ray."  
  
Yeah, he could spray them on like Fraser did. Ray didn't have a perfect ass to show off the way Fraser did. Besides, he liked giving his personal parts room to breathe.  
  
"Fraser," he hissed. "Just keep moving."  
  
"Of course, Ray."

 

 

**Fluffy Tailed Secret Agents**

 

Sark took one look at Victor Covarrubias and knew Sloane was going to die. Slowly and in great agony, at Jack Bristow's hands, probably while wearing a bunny suit. It was a comforting thought, second only to knowing Irina would never see or hear about this mission.  
  
Unless Sydney told her.  
  
Sark grimaced.  
  
Irina would find out. She would never let him live it down, either.  
  
There was no good reason SD-6 couldn't have sent in a breach and burgle team and retrieved the damned disks without raising any sort of fuss at all. But if it had to be a mission, they could have done it without the damned bunny suits.  
  
Jack could have waltzed in without any problem at all, just by pretending to be Covarrubias.  
  
Because Victor Covarrubias was a dead ringer for Jack with a Snidely Whiplash mustache, black shoe polish hair and a Ricardo Montalbon accent.  
  
Sloane had to have known.  
  
Jack was a real professional however and calmly shook Covarrubias' hand with his paw.  
  
Sark kept his cool. It wasn't hard. Jack Bristow radiated chill on the plane, in the van and all the way into Covarubias' compound. Still, he was almost glad for the rabbit head he was wearing, because every time he looked at Jack, the corner of his lip started to curl into a smile - a grin - that would just wreck his reputation. Or get him killed. The muscles in his cheeks were starting to hurt from repressing it.  
  
Jack was doing something, 'entertaining' the kids - they'd glomped onto his pink self like flies to honey - while Sark searched the compound for the entrance to Covarubias' private offices under cover of hiding Easter eggs. The poor brats would probably need therapy in another ten years to get over the trauma.  
Sark knew he needed it just from having seen Jack in the pink bunny suit.  
  
He'd considered immortalizing the moment for blackmail purposes, but only for a moment. Blackmailing Jack Bristow would probably be as suicidal as trying to strong arm Irina.  
  
Sark wasn't suicidal.  
  
Not really, except for the sleeping with Sydney thing. That arguably might be a sign of a death wish, but still, it was an adrenaline ride. Sydney was absolutely everything he liked in a woman. Except for that annoying do-gooder complex and the weepy thing. Sark could have done without the weepy thing, but thought that if he just kept her away from Yawn a little longer she'd get over it.  
  
She certainly hadn't been weepy at the briefing, he reflected darkly. Unless it was weepy from laughter.  
  
He tucked a foil-covered chocolate egg between the cushions of a leather couch, continuing his spiteful pattern of hiding the damn things wherever they might make a mess if they weren't found promptly. Then he straightened up and wiped one of his floppy ears out of his eyes.  
  
Then he checked the sensor hidden inside the giant Easter basket he was carrying. Perfect. The electronics said the safe was in the next room. He murmured into the headset mic built into the bunny head, "Target located. Acquisition in progress."  
  
Then his head whipped around and he stared with narrowed eyes at the two figures climbing through a window. One of them had a ruffled cockscomb of blond hair and a slinky body in grubby jeans and T-shirt. The other one wore a stoplight red serge uniform that Sark identified as belonging to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  
  
What in hell's name was a Mountie doing breaking into an arms dealer's private offices?  
  
"So, Fraser, how were you going to get in here if I hadn't come along to pick the locks?"  
  
"I'm sure I would have found some way inside, Ray. But I was confident you would accompany me."  
  
"Sure. You realize this amounts to felony breaking and entering? I should arrest myself." The faintly nasal words were replaced with a groan. "Oh, no. It's reached my brain. Being around you has completely screwed my sense of self preservation."  
  
"You couldn't arrest yourself, Ray. We're out of your jurisdiction. Well, unless you made a citizen's arrest, except of course you aren't a Canadian citizen, so - "  
  
Sark reached into his Easter basket, pulled out his favorite Glock and pointed at the Mountie.  
  
The slinky blond caught sight of him, widened his light blue eyes, and said, "Watch out for that bunny, Fraser, he's got a gun."

**Don't Call Me Shirley**

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow nervously. Ray glared at the white rabbit holding a gun on them, a huge basket festooned with shredded green fake grass looped over his other arm.

"Ah."

Since he couldn't tell how his glare was working on the guy in the white bunny suit, Ray switched to glaring at Fraser. Who deserved more than just glares for getting him into this - this - this fiasco. With bunnies. Why does he still hang out with a redcoated loon who says 'turtles' and pushes him out of airplanes into snow banks?

Why is he thinking about this when he has a gun pointed at him. A large, dark gun - hunh, a Glock, Harvey has good taste in guns - held in a white, furry costume paw. Foot. Whatever. It's pointed at him and Fraser.

"Ah? Ah? Fraser, Harvey here is going to shoot us," he snapped. "Where's the brilliant plan, the Mountie ingenuity, the- the cavalry?" He threw his hands up and began to pace. "I want an assault by Para Mounties. I want a gun. I want to wake up find out this is just a nightmare induced by eating leftover Thai takeout and Cheetos." He finished sadly, "I want coffee. With chocolate."

He ignored the Glock that ticked back and forth with his pacing like a metronome. He was on a roll. He was caffeine deprived.

He was on his way to being crazier than Fraser.

He whirled around and pointed at the bunny.

"Shoot me. Shoot me now."

The bunny sort of twitched and took a long step back from Ray. It - he? - tipped his head, causing one long floppy ear to flip over one eye and onto his pink satin nose.

Fraser straightened his shoulders, settling into a parade rest position and addressed the bunny.

"You wouldn't by any chance have any chocolate, would you, sir?" He amended, "Or madam, I suppose, I'm uncertain only because your custom precludes - "

The gun sort of twitched.

"You're not related to Marshall Flinkmann, are you?" the bunny inquired in a supercooled British accent.

"I - what? - no. No, not to my knowledge," Fraser replied to the non sequitur.

The bunny nodded.

"Chocolate?" Ray said. Not that it wouldn't be surreal if Harvey did offer him some, but he wouldn't say no. Chocolate made everything better.

"Ray is much better tempered when he has his morning coffee and chocolate and since our motel room didn't offer such amenities, he is perhaps a trifle out of sorts," Fraser said.

"Hey!"

The bunny just nodded and muttered, "It's the Bristow Curse. It has to be. My life was not like this before."

Despite himself, Ray felt a stab of sympathy. He knew all about a life going sideways. He slid his eyes toward Fraser, who was giving him a look. Ray crossed his arms over his chest, feeling mulish. He wasn't going to tackle Harvey over there. Bunny suit or not, the guy held that Glock like someone who used it regularly. Ray knew dangerous when he saw it and Harvey definitely qualified.

"I should never have slept with her. It's all Rambaldi's fault. And Sloane. Damn him, his Nehru jackets and his Sally Jesse Raphael glasses to hell," Harvey said to himself.

Ray wondered who Sloane and Rambaldi were. More arms dealers?

"Sir, if you would just rethink your life of crime and allow us to recover the stolen disks containing the secrets of the Canadian National Curling Team's strategy at the next Olympics, I'm sure you would feel better about yourself," Fraser said.

Ray gaped at him.

"Curling? We're here because of curling?"

Fraser's hand went to his collar and tugged.

Harvey tipped his head.

"Curling?"

Ray made a series of gestures meant to convey sliding a stone. "Curling," he said. "You know teakettles, sweeping, bonspiels ..." He covered his face with one hand and finished flatly. "I've been in Canada too long."

Harvey nodded. "If you would both just step over to the wall with the tacky Mona Lisa reproduction?"

Fraser complied immediately, pausing to examine the picture carefully, hands clasped behind his back. Ray rolled his eyes and followed.

Harvey set his basket on the desk and fished out a coil of rope with one hand. He tossed it to Fraser.

"Please bind your companion's hands behind his back securely."

Fraser examined the rope. "This is an excellent example of rappelling rope. May I inquire if you have ever done any climbing?" He turned Ray around and began tying his hands.

Tightly.

"Fraser!" Ray hissed. "Jeez, this guy has rope in his Easter basket."

"Proper preparation - "

"Prevents poor performance, yeah, great, but do you want the bad guys to perform good, that's what I want to know? Because, personally, no. I like my crooks slow and stupid and incompetent. It makes busting them so much easier."

Harvey tied Fraser's hands next, one handed, keeping the Glock pointed at Ray the whole time. After which, he tied them to each other, face to face, and left them on the couch.

Fraser immediately became fascinated with the fake Mona Lisa picture, staring at it over Ray's shoulder, occasionally licking his lower lip in a very distracting way. Ray sort of shuddered and held himself as far away as the rope would allow. Not far enough, he feared. Which was just annoying, because if he'd wanted to get into kinky bondage stuff, he could have stayed in Chicago.

On the whole he pretty much wished he had.

"Did you know that sometimes painters during the Renaissance painted more than one version of a painting or had their apprentices work on portions of the canvas - "

"Fraser, what does that have to do with the price of candy in China?"

"Well, Ray, this painting appears remarkably authentic. There have long been rumors that Leonardo painted more than one version of the Mona Lisa."

Harvey shook his head, ears bouncing. "It's like Flinkman made himself the perfect robot body ..."

Ray was pretty sure he was looking for something to gag Fraser with when the other bunny came in. The pink one.

"Sark. What's taking you so long?"

Harvey, er, Sark, pointed casually at Ray and Fraser.

The pink bunny, who was taller and heavier than the Sark bunny, had grubby chocolate hand prints all over his candy pink fur.

"I'm surprised you didn't just shoot them."

Sark sounded slightly nonplussed.

"That would be rather extravagant." He shrugged. "Besides, I forgot my silencer."

"Irina would be disappointed in you if she ever heard that."

Sark nodded.

"Personally, Agent Bristow, I never want her to ever hear about this mission."

"For once, Sark, we're in perfect agreement."

Sark went to the Mona Lisa and swung it away from the wall, revealing a high-tech safe with a keypad and lots of flashing lights like something from a Star Trek series.  
  
Crap, Ray thought, he couldn’t have got into that thing anyway. He wondered if these two guys could. When Sark pulled an Easter egg out of his basket of goodies that unscrewed to reveal a fancy electronic doodad, he figured that answer to that would be yes.

So, _Agent_ Bristow.

Bristow Curse. Ray wondered about that too.

Sark was trying to hook up his Easter egg gizmo to the safe keypad. He cursed in languages that no bunny should have ever known. Finally he stopped and jerked his bunny head off.

"Sark!"

"I can't see anything with this damned thing on my head," Sark snapped peevishly. He glared at the bunny head. "I should have killed Sloane in Tokyo," he added. He twisted and glared at Pink Bunny aka Agent Bristow from ice blue eyes. His blond hair was curling in a dozen different directions, as artfully messy as something Ray would have managed after an hour in front of the mirror. "Which was all your wife's idea, the whole-counteragent-blackmail-trick-Sloane rigmarole. Now I'm running around in a bloody bunny suit stealing secret Canadian curling strategies."

Boy, he sounded pissy.

"I hope they never let her out of that cell."

"I haven't forgotten the way you and Sydney disappeared from the New Year's Eve party, Sark," Bristow noted ominously. "Or what happened in Sloane's office afterward."

Sark blanched.

"Sydney was the one who handed you the punch," he blurted.

"That you were so careful not to drink."

Sark blinked then smirked. "You know I wouldn't lower myself to drink ... punch. Perhaps if Sloane had offered some Petruse or even a decent white wine." The smirk broadened. "Anything Kane did to Sloane ..." His eyebrow rose. "He deserved."

"And me."

"Talk to your daughter, I had nothing to do with your involvement."

Bristow started to speak, then made a disgusted sound and removed his own bunny head.

Fraser had been observing the back and forth between the two men like a ping pong match. Now his mouth fell open.

"Covarrubias?"

"What? Where?" Ray jerked, looking around wildly for the arms dealer, sure they were all going to die in a shoot out between the two psychotics in bunny suits and a bunch of criminal goons.

"Him." Fraser jerked his head to Pink Bunny Bristow.

Ray stared.

"Wow."

Bristow's cold, cold eyes narrowed. "I am not Victor Covarrubias."

"But you could play him on TV," Ray said before thinking better of it.

Sark gurgled.

"Just get the disks, Sark," Bristow gritted out.

Fraser said, "Surely, you must be related to Mr. Covarrubias."

"Don't call me Shirley."

Sark was biting his bottom lip. He turned back to cracking open the safe with a suspicious hitch to his shoulders. Yep. Laughing. Guy had a death wish. Ray was sniggering himself, which just left Fraser wondering exactly what was so funny.

"Airplane," he muttered.

"Ah," Fraser nodded then looked even more confused.

****All Tied Up** **

Sark cracked the safe and snatched out the disks, still suppressing hysterical laughter. Jack Bristow had made a joke. A joke. Wasn't that one of the unmistakable signs of the impending apocalypse? Jack made jokes, Yawn's wrinkles unfurrowed, Irina told the truth and nothing but the truth ... it was probably written down in some Rambaldi notebook.

He waved the disks at Jack - hmn, when had he started thinking of him as Jack? "Got them." He didn't want to start calling Jack 'Jack' in briefings or anything. Bonding over bunny suits or not, he suspected that Jack would hurt him.

Jack nodded.

"Let's go."

Okay, he wasn't the only one in a hurry to get out of the bunny suits.

"You're just going to leave us here, aren't you?" Ray asked. He sounded resigned, in a sort of 'this is my life' way.

Jack glanced at them dismissively.

"Yes."

"It figures."

Sark raised an eyebrow.

Ray shrugged as much as he could while tied chest to chest with the Mountie. Sark noted the Mountie didn't seem too disturbed by the close proximity.

"Most cases end up with one or both of us all tied up," Ray said. "Sometimes we don't even got to leave the apartment."

Sark blinked at that.

Ray turned red.

"I didn't mean it like that."

Sark shrugged. After being felt up by a giant albino while zonked on Rambaldi love juice, he wasn't about to judge anyone.

"What are you going to do with that information, if I may ask?" Fraser asked.

"That's classified," Jack said.

Sark suppressed a snort.

"It's curling strategy, not nerve gas or a Russian submarine," Ray griped.

Sark paused and looked at them with new respect. "Your Fraser and Kowalski," he said.

Jack blinked at that.

"Why, yes, we are," Fraser said.

"I see," Jack said. He raised his eyebrows at Sark. "How do you know them?"

Sark shrugged. "I don't _know_ them, and it could be because I hacked the SD-6 computers, but the truth is when I was with the Organization, Khasinau tasked me with removing Holloway Muldoon. The fool double crossed Irina. Before I could take him out, he fled to Canada. Fraser and Kowalski caught him."

"Removing?" Ray repeated with a snort. "If we'd only known, right, Frase?"

"Hardly, Ray. Law abiding citizens frown on assassination as a solution to interpersonal conflict."

"Yeah, ya know, because it works so well."

Sark nodded. It did, really. Dead people never argued or sent you on missions in bunny suits. Which reminded him.

Sloane was so dead.

Ray and Fraser were having a hissed conversation.

"Did you have to tie my hands so tight?"

"Sorry, Ray, the squirrel does a loop-de-loop knot can be exceptionally difficult to release. I happened to be reviewing it last night while polishing my buttons - "

Ray choked.

" - so it was on my mind and perhaps, yes, I suppose I should have used a different knot."

"Ya think?"

Jack picked up his bunny head and replaced it.

"Let's go." He headed for the door into the hall. "We can't waste time exfiltrating now we have the target."

He meant they needed to get through the gauntlet of sugar high kids as fast as possible.

Sark looked at his own headgear with loathing, then put it on. He stashed the disks in his easter basket along with the Glock. He started toward the door after Jack, then stopped. Smiling behind the mask, he fished a chocolate egg out of his basket, peeled off the foil and offered it to Ray.

Ray glared at it narrow eyed.

"It's not drugged," Sark promised.

Ray shrugged, said, "What the hell," and opened his mouth. Sark dropped the chocolate in.

"Gentlemen," Sark said with a mock bow and exited. The last they saw of him was his fluffy white tail.

Ray chewed his chocolate.

"There, Ray, see?" Fraser said. "A little courtesy never goes amiss. Mr. Sark remembered that you like chocolate."

Ray swallowed.

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Squirrel does the loop-de-loop?"

Fraser fumbled at the rope around his wrists.

"An excellent knot used by the Inuit on the dog sled harnesses. Metal buckles were unknown among them before the Europeans - "

"Fraser."

" - arrived in North America - "

"I'm going to hire a hit on you."

"Or you could just hit on me, Ray," Fraser said as he slipped his hand loose, wriggled out of the ropes holding them close to each other and smiled.

"Right now, I'd rather just hit you," Ray snapped. He was still tied up. Why was he always the one that ended up tied up? God hated him.

"Now, Ray, we need to go after those two nefarious characters masquerading as childrens' entertainers."

Ray gaped at him then just fell back against the couch back.

"Of course, after that we will need to investigate how Covarrubias obtained this painting."

"The Da Vinci fake?"

Fraser nodded.

Ray shook his head.

"Nah, nahhahah."

"Ray - "

"Fraser, I was just held at gunpoint by the Easter Bunny and you still have never explained why we're playing James Bond over curling." His lip curled over the word.

"Curling."

Fraser didn't answer him, just leaned over and took advantage of Ray's restrained sprawl on the leather couch.

~~~~~

"Curling," Sark said on the flight back to LA.

Jack nodded.

"I confess to being baffled."

Jack paused in his task of carefully scissoring the pink bunny suit into so many handkerchief sized bits of fabric. Squares of pink fur lay on the floor and even on his loafers.

Sark was planning on ceremonially torching his costume.

"The one thing Arvin Sloane feels more passionate about than Rambaldi is the United States eventually supremacy in international curling competitions," Jack said.

Sark stared at him and wondered again just exactly when his life had gone completely off the rails.

 

 

And That (Thank the little gods) is That.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And th-th-th-th-that's all, folks!


End file.
